


What you were then I am today

by helpiamabug



Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-22
Updated: 2010-11-22
Packaged: 2017-10-13 08:15:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/135102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helpiamabug/pseuds/helpiamabug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ashe schemes like a scheming thing, Basch pretends not to notice (or care), and Larsa is too busy trying to make out with Penelo to notice Vaan running around without his pants on. In other words, just another afternoon in Archades.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What you were then I am today

**Author's Note:**

> this story is a srsly flimsy excuse for sexy tiems between basch and ashe. and you know what? the dialog's crap, the premise is crap, but i'm not sorry, because my brain FINALLY GOT BASCH LAID.
> 
> usual disclaimer applies, aka not mine, no profit being made, plz to not sue!

If there is a hell, Basch thinks to himself as another drop of sweat rolls down his spine, this - a garden party in high Archadian summer in full Judge Magister armor - is probably pretty close to it. He would like nothing better than to be napping on the couch in his office, but Larsa had summoned him straight from his council with the Royal Guard, and there is no chance he can risk removing his helmet here, not with the spying eyes of gossiping servants everywhere in the castle.

He trails some distance behind Larsa as he and Penelo sip at their wine and drift slowly across the lawn to where Ashe and Vaan are sparring, watching as his liege tucks Penelo's hand more firmly into his elbow and bends to whisper in her ear. Basch thinks soon he will have to have a conversation with Larsa about the benefits of subtlety in courtship - no one would mistake the glow in his eyes for anything other than complete adulation.

Basch catches Penelo's eye as she lifts her head to laugh at some soft comment of Larsa's, and she smiles wide, raising her goblet to him in a toast before she drains it and settles herself more firmly under Larsa's arm, his hands dipping lower to clasp her waist. Perhaps there is some sadness in the smile - then again, he thinks, she is the one person in all Archades to understand exactly how he feels: caught between duty and desire, and certainly no way to reconcile the two.

He is startled from his reverie by the class of wood on metal, and looks up to watch Ashe and Vaan fight in the practice ring. They are fairly equally matched - Vaan is bigger, new muscles gained from days of repairing engines and hunting marks in the Deadlands, but Ashe is lithe and quick on her feet, and they dance back and forth across the ring without a real advantage. Larsa calls out encouragement to them both as Vaan leaps forward, slashing with his dulled practice daggers. Ashe blocks once with her staff and then presses forward, reaching out to sweep his feet from under him, but she misjudges the distance, and Vaan grazes her shoulder with the tip. She falls to a knee and presses her hand to the cut, a raised red line against her collarbone, and Vaan pauses, horrified, and offers her his hand to pull her up. Ashe reaches up in good faith, but as he pulls her from the ground she uses the momentum to drive herself hard into his chest, and then her foot is smashing his instep as she drives her elbow into his solar plexus. Basch smiles - he remembers Balthier teaching her that move after Vossler's betrayal ('This, your majesty, will come in handy if you are ever foolish enough to let your enemies get so close to you again') and Vaan curls in on himself and whimpers surrender.

Penelo steps forward to examine the wound and smiles, shaking her head. No need for magicks, then. Good. But then - Ashe steps out of the ring and turns to Basch, resting her weight on her staff and cocking her hip - his breath catches at the familiar pose - and then she bends and shrugs back on her gauzy jacket and places her coronet on her head. 'My friends!' she calls, as Larsa laughingly helps Vaan from the ground. 'I beg your leave. I find the sky pirate Vaan Ratsbane has grievously injured me, and I must seek the attention of healers. I would, of course, request an escort from your guard, Lord Larsa, lest I find myself too weak to make my way to the infirmary.' Larsa doesn't even bother to try and hide his smile as Ashe takes Basch's arm, and simply inclines his head in agreement as Ashe firmly leads him towards the exit.

He is only confused for a moment as Ashe veers towards her quarters rather than the white mage study - in truth, if she were seriously injured, there would be no one better equipped to heal her scrapes than herself or Penelo. She opens the door and waltzes in, beckoning him to join her. Larsa chose to place her in rooms that look out onto the lowlands rather than onto Archades itself, and from the wide, low balcony he imagines he can almost see the peak of Bur-Omisace. Ashe has busied herself with pouring two goblets of wine from the decanter on the table and steps towards him, offering him a glass. 'Come, Basch. Unmask yourself and join me for a glass of wine. If you refuse, I shall be forced to drink this bottle myself and cause a diplomatic incident by running nude through the streets of Molberry.'

Basch pauses for a moment to contemplate that image, but he shakes his head once, smiling inside his helmet, and says: 'I would not think of leaving our young Lord to the wiles of Vaan and Penelo. He is utterly defenceless against them, and I should be there to ensure that there are no more card games where the wager involves Vaan's pants in any way'. Ashe throws her head back and laughs, then - the servants had been utterly scandalized to find Vaan drunkenly strolling about the castle in only his pendant and bracers - but she places the goblets on the table and cocks her head, contemplating him - and then she pounces, reaching up quick as a snake to try and pull his helmet from his head. Startled, he steps back reflexively and grasps her wrists.

She peeps up at him with her crown slipping to one side as she laughs and tries to reach again for the horns of his helmet, and for a moment her queenly veneer slips and she is simply Ashe, his Ashe - his breath catches and he rests his gauntleted palm against the nape of her neck despite himself.

He loosens his graps on her wrists and she reaches up, triumphant, to pull his brother's helmet from his head. The sun blinds him for a moment as he looks down at her, setting in the west behind the balcony, it's last golden rays a fitting halo for her - more so than the crown of Dalmasca ever was. She presses forward again, and where her hand rests for a moment on his breastplate the heat of it burns through the metal and leather straight to his heart.

No, Basch thinks to himself. No, he will never be able to refuse her anything she asks.

Ashe reaches her hand up, tracing his scar up across his eye and then down to his jaw, resting her hand there - she hesitates for a moment - and she surges forwards and presses her lips to the back of her hand as though she were kissing his stubbled cheek. It is the courtly manner of betrothed Dalmascans who cannot kiss properly in public (despite the desert heat stripping away layers of clothes, social mores in Dalmasca are surprisingly rigid) and it is that more than anything that undoes him. He closes his eyes at the wash of her breath against his face and for a moment he is so overcome with desire that he is dizzy, and he steps back until he feels the wall behind him. Ashe follows and reaches up again, leaves no space between them and cards her fingers through his hair, dragging him down to kiss her properly. Her mouth is soft and lush, and tastes of sweet Rozzarrian wine and he cannot help himself as he moans and bites down on her lip. Ashe sighs in response and steps back, smiles at him, reaches behind her back for the ties of her dress and toeing out of her shoes. It becomes a race, then, Basch desperately fumbling at the fastenings of his armor, carelessly tossing each piece to fall on the stone floor - he does not care who hears, he thinks, let them talk - as Ashe peels herself out of her queenly trappings and falls back on the bed, laughing, covered only by a few scraps of lace.

Gods, it has been so long, and he has missed her so much - their couplings in the Westersand were no more than desperate touches in the night, and to have the luxury of a real bed, and time to spread her out before him - the idea makes his head swim and he growls, a burr catching low in his throat as he presses her down onto the mattress and bites at her neck. Ashe spreads her hands across his back and pulls him closer, tipping her head back as he sucks at her pulsepoint and wrapping her legs around him, grinding herself up against his cock so that his arms go weak as heat shoots up his spine. She is flushed and panting and she has never been more beautiful as she whines, high and needy, pressing his hand to her breast and arching against him. Basch bends to kiss her, biting at her nipple and soothing it with his tongue, nuzzling the soft underside as he slides down the bed so that he bites at her hip. He runs his knuckles between her thighs and even through her underwear she is burning hot and slick, and he can't help himself as he hooks one finger through the lacy things and drag them down to her knees. Ashe leans up on her elbows and looks down at him, her eyes wild and unfocused and begging, and he gives in to his need and presses his face to her thigh before turning his ministrations to slip his tongue between her soft folds, sliding his fingers up into her welcoming heat and leaning down to lap between her thighs. Ashe is wild like this, digging her nails into the back of his neck and pressing herself closer as he crooks two fingers inside her. She clenches around him once, again, she draws herself up off the bed as taught as a bowstring - and then she is shaking apart above him.

She pulls him up with her so that he collapses atop her against the pillows, and she smiles softly at him, trailing her nails down his spine to trace the scars on his back before sliding her palms down towards his groin. Gods, he's so hard and her touch is so good - it's too much - his vision fuzzes out for a moment as she strokes him, and then - she flips him expertly onto his back and sinks down onto his cock, rolling her head back as she takes all of him until he's fully sheathed inside of her. She's burning up inside and Basch is almost afraid to move for a moment, until Ashe rolls her hips experimentally, and then it's all he can do, snapping his hips up against her, sliding his hands up her thighs as she cups her breasts in her palms and pinches her nipples between her fingers. Color is climbing high in her cheeks again, and she leans forward to kiss him as he thrusts up in a fierce rhythm. He wants nothing more than to make her come again, and he slides his thumb down to where they're joined and presses just so - her cunt flutters around him and he can't stop, he can't help himself as he drives up into her again and again and grips her hips hard enough to bruise as he loses control and shouts, spilling himself inside of her. Ashe rides him for a moment more and then she collapses, sated.

Ashe rolls off him and tucks herself under his arm, pillowing her head on his chest. He wants to stay like this for hours, combing her hair with his fingers, kissing her so she goes soft and unwrapped just for him - not a queen, not a warrior, just Ashe - but it's almost time for dinner, Basch knows. When they get out of bed he'll have to put all his armor back on, losing a little bit of himself with each layer of steel, fastening himself back into his brother's life, where there's less Ashe than he'd like and more loneliness than he knows what to do with. Almost as though she knows what he's thinking, she pinches his side and grins up at him before he has a chance to feel sorry for himself. He probably doesn't do as good a job of masking the longing on his face as he'd like, though, because she falters for a moment, frowns, and then kisses his neck softly before twining her limbs about his as closely as she can. It is not enough and yet it has to be, and perhaps there will be more stolen moments like these before Ashe returns to Dalmasca. Perhaps. Basch lets himself drift off into a lazy sleep with Ashe's warm weight holding him down. He has reports to read and Larsa to protect (most likely from Penelo) and he knows he can only linger here a few moments more, but he presses a sleepy kiss to the crown of Ashe's head and pulls the coverlet about them. There will be time enough for duty tomorrow.


End file.
